


After Sherlock Holmes

by jelloisfalling



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-24 02:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jelloisfalling/pseuds/jelloisfalling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Sherlock Holmes’ very public suicide everything had changed for Molly. Well, everything had changed in an it-all-looks-the-same way. People still were dying and she still had to go to work. Her coworkers still talked about what a freak Sherlock Holmes was. Occasionally she will get asked what it was like to work with him, but the people on the upper levels, who never saw her interact with Sherlock couldn’t tell that she had had a crush. She just says—not untruthfully—that he did weird things and a great mind was lost—which one had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life After Death

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at fanfic...ever. (Not true, I've just never posted it)  
> I own nothing, none of these characters are mine, if they were I wouldn't be posting fanfic; I'd be publishing books.

After Sherlock Holmes’ very public suicide everything had changed for Molly. Well, everything had changed in an it-all-looks-the-same way. People still were dying and she still had to go to work. Her coworkers still talked about what a freak Sherlock Holmes was. Occasionally she will get asked what it was like to work with him, but the people on the upper levels, who never saw her interact with Sherlock couldn’t tell that she had had a crush. She just says—not untruthfully—that he did weird things and a great mind was lost—which one had.

Even though life went on and it seemed that the world’s only consulting detective had been forgotten, Molly still remembered him and thought about him often.

The man was sleeping in her guest bedroom.

Molly knew that everything the media had said was false, Sherlock was real and Molly saw his (mostly positive) effect everywhere she went. She was helping him recover his credibility, even at the expense of her own sanity. She had given him shelter, and he was driving her mad, in a way you could say she was suffering.

But Molly Hooper was suffering; she had suffered at his funeral, seeing John Watson cry, and Greg Lestrade try not to. She watched Mrs. Hudson say that Sherlock was like a son to her and that she believed in his innocence. Mycroft looked at Molly in a way that suggested that he knew, and was waiting to see Molly’s acting performance. She cried. John, Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly were the only people at Sherlock Holmes’ funeral, but Molly suspected that there was another not not invited guest lurking around.

In the cab, on the way to the wake at Baker Street, John’s sadness turned to rage. Molly had never seen John so mad, it was uncharacteristic.

“He smirked.” John said through his teeth.

“What?”

“Mycroft, he didn’t even look sad. It was his brother. I know that had this power struggle but he could at least acted like he cared.”

“Maybe he has a difficult time showing his emotions. Some people are just like that.” Molly said as she checked her phone.

Nice tears. Bring me home some of Mrs. Hudson’s turkey. I’m dying.—SH

“Some people just—they create a barrier for themselves to protect from the hurt and they don’t realize that they are being insensitive.” Molly didn’t know which Holmes boy she was talking about.

“Maybe.” The cab arrived at 221B. She hadn’t been there since the disastrous Christmas Party and honestly nothing had changed.

“Hello, Ms.—I mean, Dr. Hooper.” Molly turned around to see a red and puffy eyed Lestrade.

“Hello DI.”

“Call me Greg.” 

“Greg. Are you okay?” _Stupid Molly! Stupid question! He just went to a funeral and he looks like he’s been crying, of course he isn’t okay_. Molly Hooper was a very smart woman, but small talk was not her area. “Uh, no. What I meant was—”

“I understand what you meant, and I am okay. I don’t know if Scotland Yard will be though—” Lestrade chuckled awkwardly.

“I’m surely you are all competent enough. Sherlock couldn’t have been the only clever person there.”

“Sometimes I wondered.” Greg took a sip from the glass in his hand that Molly hadn’t even noticed. There was a table with various alcoholic drinks on the other side of the room and as much as Molly didn’t want to seem rude and leave Lestrade, she desperately wanted one of those drinks in her hand.

“Excuse me.” She said and walked past him. Before she could get to the table, there was a Mr. Mycroft Holmes in front of her.

“Dr. Hooper, my brother has told me a lot about you. I’m so glad we’ve met again.”

“I just wish it was under lighter circumstances.” Molly said, she circled around Mycroft, who was blocking her from the table. He turned with her, and if someone was watching, it may have looked like they were dancing.

“Dr. Hooper, there are some things I’d like to discuss with you—regarding my brother’s…more eccentric possessions.”

Molly took a sip of her drink, “I’m sure Bart’s could appreciate the donation.”

Mycroft’s suspicious expression softened, “Yes, I think that it would be a great contribution to Bart’s. I will get in contact with you after things become…less fresh.” Mycroft studied Molly’s face, and she made herself look at him. He looked like he was daring her to crack.

After Mycroft walked away Molly gulped down her drink, picked up another, and looked for Lestrade, who had moved at some point during her conversation with Mycroft. She really hoped she hadn’t offended him.

On a corner, John Watson was nursing a beer and watching all the “party” goers. Molly walked over to him and leaned on a desk.

“How are you holding up?” He asked.

“Much better than you are.” She said. He looked up at her, and she could see the hours of crying he had done and felt a pang of guilt. She did not want to be over there anymore.

“He always treated you so badly and you let him.” John took the final sip of his beer. “Why?”

“I believed in—believe in—him.”

“You don’t think he was false.”

“I think that Moriarty was good at playing the ga—” Molly stopped herself; she wasn’t supposed to know about the game. Sherlock explained it to her when she told him she would help him. But John couldn’t know that.

“What?” John sobered up.

“The media game, it’s all a bunch of he said she said and whoever has the best story wins.” She took a sip of her drink and John’s posture became less ridged. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, if they think it will sell, the press prints it. And in this case, it ruined a man’s life.” Molly patted herself on the back mentally for talking herself out of that one. In the corner of her eye she noticed Mycroft was watching the exchange and when he saw her looking he turned his back to face Mrs. Hudson.

“Yeah, Molly, thank you, for everything that you’ve done for him over the years. I know he never thanked you and he was a prick to work with but you deserved better treatment.”

“Thanks John.” They walked over to the table, where Mycroft and Lestrade were helping Mrs. Hudson carve a large turkey. Molly mentally noted to bring some home for Sherlock.

An hour later, everyone was ready to go home. Molly was on her way up to John’s room and Lestrade was carrying the drunken mourner upstairs.

“Here you go.” Lestrade said as he put John onto the bed.

John was too drunk to talk, but he made a noise that Lestrade took as thank you. Molly took John’s shoes off and put the covers over him.

“Night John.” She said, but John was already half asleep and her and Lestrade left the room quietly.

“Well, I guess I should be leaving.” Molly said awkwardly, the hallway to John’s bedroom was narrow and they were rather shoved together. Molly felt Lestrade’s arm move—into a more comfortable position for him—but awkward in that, now he was hovering over Molly at a seductive angle.

“Oh. Okay. Good night Ms.—I mean Dr. Hooper.”

“Night,” Molly walked down the stairs, Lestrade shortly behind her, and when she was at the door to leave she heard;

“Wait.” She turned around, Lestrade caught up with her. “Um, do you…do you want to share a cab?” Molly looked at him. Lestrade, who had just permanently ended his teetering marriage to his wife of 10 years, was red in the face and looking at his hand like a schoolboy asking a girl to a dance.

“Okay.”

The cab ride was awkward, neither knew what to talk about and Molly felt guilty about John.

“Are you okay?” Lestrade asked, Molly was so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed the tears building up in her eyes.

Molly let out a nervous laugh, “I don’t know, ask me tomorrow.”

“You want to see me tomorrow?” Lestrade looked up and met Molly’s confused eyes. “Or was that arbitrary…” He mumbled.

“Sure, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Molly said, she mostly said it because he looked so uncomfortable with the whole exchange. After a second she realized that she had just committed to another uncomfortable exchange, of a different nature.

“Okay, I work late, so lunch?”

“Okay.” The cab stopped at her flat not a moment too soon. “Good bye Greg.”

“Bye Dr. Hooper, Molly.” The cab drove away and Molly head palmed. Lestrade was a handsome, older man. He probably would be a good date; he’s _probably_ not gay or insane. He was still technically married, but they were separated, so tomorrow’s lunch date shouldn’t be too unbearable, she hoped.

As soon as she walked into the flat and saw Sherlock on the couch plucking strings on a violin, she remembered that she had forgotten the turkey. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“Sh.” Sherlock said dismissively. Molly was used to being told to shush, but until Sherlock moved in, it was never in her own house.

She walked over to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. It was a red wine night.

Sherlock walked over to the counter and smelled Molly. “Interesting.”

“What?”  
Sherlock took her head in his hand and looked her in the face. “You had some fun at my wake, I see.”

“What are you talking about Sherlock, it was a wake. They are never fun.”

“You smell of two men’s colognes.” Molly glared at Sherlock and took a small sip of her drink. “One of them is John’s. Molly I hope you aren’t trying to move in on my best friend. That would be low, even for you.”

“I wasn’t.”

“The other—”

“Is Greg’s, before you say anything else. John got really drunk and Greg carried him up to his room, I had to unlock the door. Greg couldn’t because, well he was carrying John.” Sherlock’s eyes dimmed at the news about John, but he bounced back in a second.

“So he is Greg, is he?”

“That’s his name.”

“He’s Lestrade.”

“He told me to call him Greg.” Sherlock studied her for a bit, the first time he had done this, couple days ago, Molly was shocked and nervous. But since then, with nothing to focus on, Sherlock’s insight had turned to her and to be honest she was tired of it. “Sherlock, I’m going to bed, good night.”

“Good bye Molly.”


	2. Or Something like That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sherlock Holmes’ not so public funeral everything had changed for Molly. Well, everything had changed in an it-all-looks-the-same way. People still were dying and she still had to go to work. Her coworkers talked less about what a freak Sherlock Holmes was. Less occasionally she will get asked what it was like to work with him, but the people on the upper levels, who never saw her interact with Sherlock couldn't tell that she had had a crush and that crush had since been replaced. Looking back at what he spent his morgue time doing, Molly realized that Sherlock did weird things but the world was missing a great mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a bunch of head canons about how Sherlock would handle a _normal_ crush (as in having a crush on someone that isn't Irene Adler because Irene Adler is _Irene Adler_ ). Some of them are based on his relationship with the Woman, most of them are based on people with Asperger's Syndrome, so if in this or future chapters you recognize that any of his behaviors are similar to other real/fictional people who happen to have Asperger's than here's your sign.
> 
> *Disclaimer* I own nothing, if I did, I would be rich.

After Sherlock Holmes’ not so public funeral a week after his suicide everything had changed for Molly. Well, everything had changed in an it-all-looks-the-same way. People still were dying and she still had to go to work. Her coworkers talked less about what a freak Sherlock Holmes was. Less occasionally she will get asked what it was like to work with him, but the people on the upper levels, who never saw her interact with Sherlock couldn't tell that she had had a crush and that crush had since been replaced. Looking back at what he spent his morgue time doing, Molly realized that Sherlock did weird things but the world was missing a great mind.

He was also keen on details.

That morning after Sherlock’s funeral, Molly had to go back to work, which she didn't mind because she had a lunch date with Greg Lestrade. Molly was surprised at how excited she was. She hadn't ever thought of him as date-able, probably because he was married… and she was preoccupied with a certain consulting detective, who was watching her put on makeup.

“You’re wearing makeup, Molly? You work with the dead, who are you trying to impress?” Sherlock asked bluntly. “If it’s another IT I think you’d have better luck with the dead.”

Molly didn't pay him any mind. She’d be very excited to go to work, even if she didn’t have a lunch date with Greg. Her personal life lately had been more depressing that working in the morgue. She saw Sherlock’s reflection squint at her went she let out of a chuckle at that thought. She was humming some nonexistent tune, she was tone deaf but she was so happy she didn't care.

“Molly, the only thing worse than your conversational skills is your humming.” Sherlock said; she hummed anyway. He left the bathroom.

When she was done with her hair and had her uniform on, she ran back to her room. She brought out her little makeup case and stuck it in her regular work bag. She would need to refresh sometime during the day.

Sherlock, who watched her put the little bag into the big bag, scowled. Molly didn’t even notice.

“Who is he?” Sherlock final said.

“What?” Molly said.

“Who is he? This guy that you are putting on makeup to work at the morgue for, you are bringing makeup to freshen up, so you must see him during the day. Does he work at the hospital?” Molly looked at Sherlock, was he _jealous_? No, he couldn’t be. He’s Sherlock Holmes and he never feels _sentiment_ and if he did sure as hell wouldn't feel it for Molly Hooper. “Is he a relative or one of your….clients?” Sherlock sounded impatient now.

“No, it’s not either.” Molly said, Sherlock did not feel comforted by her answer, he didn’t know what he felt.

“So you are saying there is a man?” 

“Or there isn’t and if there isn’t any man than he couldn’t be a coworker or a client’s relative.” Molly said, even Sherlock was a little dumbfounded by she response.

“You wouldn’t where makeup for just anyone…” She didn’t wear makeup for him when she knew he would be at the morgue, aside from a minuscule amount of lipstick.

“You have to focus, the sooner you take down Ji—Moriarty’s network, the sooner you can go home.” Sherlock frowned, where did Molly become the one that had priorities?

Molly worked hard, barely looking at the clock until an hour before her lunch break. Then she was too excited to really pay attention. She went to the bathroom to refresh her makeup; if she did it now versus right before Greg go there than it would look like she had put some up, but wasn't too concerned about keeping it fresh, but it would still be clear. So basically she wanted to look like she was happy to have lunch with Greg but not over excited.

Eventually the hour passed and Greg stood outside the morgue for a good couple of minutes. He smelled himself several times. He had this fancy collogue his daughter had given him last father's' day and he never had anywhere to wear it. He thought it was too strong, but he wanted to smell nice? He was so out of practice with dating, seriously he had been married to the same woman for _ten_ years and Molly was so much younger than him. Was she into this metro-sexual guy phase? What if this scent was too musky for her? Well she liked Sherlock and he smelled like formaldehyde, most likely because he spent a lot of time in the morgue, but Molly smelt like Lemon Pledge herself, so would she like this French collogue?

When Greg worked up the nerve to walk in, Molly was finishing up an examination and there was a dead body on the slab. Greg looked at Molly with a deli bag and said, “I hope we are not eating there.”

Molly laughed, “Really? It’s a shame because Fred there is really good company. You know, except for the drugs…” This time Greg laughed and Molly said, “We can eat in my office, it’s that door over there. Let me go wash my hands and I will meet you in there.”

Three minutes later Molly, who had freed her hair from its braid, sat next to Greg at her desk. “You smell…nice, I mean. You smell nice.”

“Thank you.” Greg said with a sigh of relief.

She pulled out her small lunch box, she had a PB&J sandwich and some celery sticks.

“That’s not a real lunch.” Said Greg, before he took a big bite from his hoagie.

“What? This is totally a lunch.” Molly said.

Greg finished chewing his bite. “No it’s not. When do you get off?”

“Around 11.” Molly said quietly.

“And you start at like 9? That is not enough to tide you over. Here.” He handed her half his sub. Molly inspected the contents and then she thought _God, I’m becoming Sherlock_ , and took a big bite. It was delicious.

“Yum,” Molly said, her mouth was still really full. Greg laughed at Molly, who had obviously bitten off more than she could chew. 

They were finished eating in about 15 minutes and there was little conversation, just comments about the sandwich. When they were done they sat for a minute thinking about what to do now. Molly still had 45 minutes and Greg didn't have to leave for Scotland Yard for a while. 

“One time, for ‘Bring Your Kid to Work Day,’ Sherlock begged me to take him.” Greg said, kind of out of nowhere. 

“Why?” Molly said incredulously. 

“He was just bored.” 

“What did you do?” Molly said, giggling. 

“I took him of course! I held his hand and showed him around the offices. I even introduced him to the people he had worked with the previous day.” 

Molly busted out laughing, “Really?” 

“Yes, I gave him a description of what everyone did and he kept correcting me, saying, 'oh that’s what they _should_ do, well their execution needed work.'” Greg was laughing too hard at the memory to talk for a second, so was Molly. “They all hated him, well more than they already…hated…him.” They both sobered up at the story’s somber end. 

“The first time I met Sherlock he was examining one of the bodies and he didn’t look like any of the workers that I’d seen, so I walked over to him and asked if I could help him and he pointed to the body and said ‘that one. I want that one.’ I said, ‘What?’ and he said, ‘I would like to check out that body.’ He seriously wanted buy that body like the morgue was Tesco.” Molly giggled at the memory. 

“One time he deduced that this woman was a recent divorcee because of the tan on her ring finger. She said that she had actually just sent to get her ring polished. Whenever he gets too cocky we would remind him that Jeanette Copes was just getting her ring polished.” Molly giggled. It was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She liked being able to talk about Sherlock, _or_ she liked that Sherlock and by extension all the things Sherlock did were not taboo and that eliminated the elephant in the room. 

For the rest of the hour they swapped silly stories about things Sherlock had done and it was pleasant. Molly wished his wake had been more Like that. She was sure John would be a treasure trove of silly Sherlock stories like, _he didn’t know the Earth went around the sun._

When it was time for Greg to go, Molly really didn't want to say good bye. It wasn't the awkward exchange she dreaded yesterday, it was light-hearted and by making fun of Sherlock, they were celebrating him. Even though he was also the world’s biggest prat, he was also a great source of entertainment. 

When Molly got home, Sherlock was laying down on the couch with his eyes closed. Molly though he was asleep until she heard, “How was your date, Molly?” 

“Super. It was just lunch but it was enjoyable.” Molly said unloading her things onto the table. 

“Isn’t it in poor taste to go on a date the day after a friend’s—whose death was suicide—funeral?” Sherlock was uncharacteristically invested in Molly’s affairs, this date in particular. 

“It wasn't a date-date. We just ate lunch…and talked about you.” Molly said looking at the couch. 

“Molly last time your date showed any interest in me, he was a gay serial killer. I wouldn't put too much stock into this relationship.” 

“You’re probably right. He’s married ya know.” Molly couldn't believe he hadn't figured out who it was. She felt oddly proud that she managed to pull the wool over Sherlock Holmes' eyes. 

“He’s an adulterer? Molly, I say this as a friend, stop any and all attempts at getting in a relationship.” Molly smiled to herself, Sherlock smiled to himself too. They were both smiling for very different reasons. Molly because Sherlock hadn't deduced who her secret mystery date was, and Sherlock because as far as he could see this wasn't going anywhere and…he wasn't sure why he cared so much about Molly’s dates. 

"Perhaps you are right, but I am going to have dinner with him next Friday so, congrats you’ll have the house to yourself.” 

“I already have the house to myself all day. Are you staying _all night_?” Sherlock told himself that he didn't want Molly to get too involve with this guy too fast, because then she would be hurt. His concern was noble. 

“Both of us have jobs that require long late hours. So we are going to see a movie at eleven and go to dinner afterward. I won’t be back til late. Speaking of, I’m going to take a shower and then go to sleep. Good night Sherlock.” 

“Good night Molly.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Bring You Kid to Work Day" story is from an anonymous Tumblr user who submitted it to bbcsherlockhadcanon.tumblr.com. (Head canon #2381)  
> Same with the Jeanette Copes story, (Head canon #2392)  
> It's an awesome blog and you should check it out. In fact, just do it right now. Stop everything go check that out.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was a promising start. Feedback would be wonderful.


End file.
